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If one can grieve what never was if unfulfilled wistfulness is worthy of sorrow If could’ve should’ve maybe regretfulness can be mourned I will go to the wake pay my respects sing praises lifting an anthem of toasts to the dearly departed Then I’ll tip my hat leave my money on the bar and the… Read more
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I eschew sex. Firmly entrenched now in middle age I have found the act wanting, boring the physicality dull, unimaginative old hat Sex has lost its interest in me shunning sex, I have discovered making love It is the side effect of experience the residue of having love, lost, found I am the artist who… Read more
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“Love is like tartar sauce; it looks like hell, you have no idea what’ in it, but you always seem to find it tasty”. – Me, circa 1990 Witticisms, coined phrases of my younger years linger around me trailing like stray dogs following me home from the butcher shop ‘scat! go away! don’t follow me’!… Read more
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Cozy Den of Iniquity Wither thou goest oh, hibernating rodent! Preach thine prediction! Misdirected Celebratory nod today to the wiener; happy ground-hog day. Boondoggle Slovenly groundhogs stay in bed, Tweet conjecture; masses, pacified. – Mark Lucker Read more
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Sometimes I ponder my legacy picturesque footprints in beach sand casually, photogenically left behind, impulsively signed with flotsam stick left to the whim of waves, rising tides? Existence as an Etch-A-Sketch frozen in time via cataclysmic event fossilization rendering me ancient to a distant archeological future? I cannot say Hearts, initials clandestinely written whimsically defacing… Read more
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There remains, for me, a magic to Christmas Eve a carryover from youth, augmented with the new memories being created, added to the repertoire Thou the idyllic Mel Torme and Norman Rockwell versions of iconic song and picture were only loving adornments to the Christmas Eves I remember their annual, wistful reappearances are welcome The… Read more
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I am aging gracefully as is my faith like the gray replacing the brown in my beard pesky questions have been quietly replaced not with answers but the earned ease that comes with the confidence of blithely ignored uncertainty, There is grace in abandoned worry, freedom in letting go the folly of life mastery comfort with… Read more
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Faded are July’s warmth, summer’s cheers. Supplanted now by the encroaching hints of cooler days, forgotten expectations, procrastinated chores shelved, he can only now muse without dwelling on what won’t be. Could-have-beens and maybes aren’t statistically meaningful; they never really were, except to others in relation to their expectations and dreams for him. Regret is… Read more
